


Should've Gone Waterskiing

by riot3672



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Banter, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Dancing and Singing, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Heavy Drinking, POV Clint Barton, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riot3672/pseuds/riot3672
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has three missions: get Wanda away from Vision, recruit some guy named Scott Lang, and get both of them to Germany. But, when Clint's travel plans go awry, he's left in a car driving with a snarky and on-edge teenage (she claims to be 23, but no) witch and some guy who is likely to steal his wallet. Can Clint make it to Germany in one piece?</p><p>(set during Civil War; contains spoilers; all crack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Gone Waterskiing

Clint didn’t exactly think it’d be _easy_ , per say, recruiting Wanda and some guy named Scott Lang to help out ol’ Steve. No, when was anything ever easy? If it was meant to be easy, Clint would’ve stayed home and gone water skiing with Cooper and Lila. Water skiing was easy as shit, but it also couldn’t compare to the thrill of,

“I shouldn’t feel bad, right? I mean, he tried to feed me paprikash made out of cayenne peppers. No one just does that on accident,” Wanda said as the two of them drove to the rendezvous point to fly over to Europe to meet Cap.

No, ever since Wanda decided she liked him just enough to talk to him, nothing was ever boring. 

“No way,” Clint replied.

Clint wondered if he should check on Scott Lang. He hadn’t really told the guy anything. Just said the Avengers and Captain America wanted him, and the idiot had just jumped into the back of the car like the stupidest of children Clint had ever known. Apparently he could shrink. Clint wasn’t convinced.

“‘No way’ like I shouldn’t feel bad or ‘no way’ like no one could mistake cayenne pepper for paprika?”

The more Clint thought about it, the most unusual it was that Wanda was talking in general. Was she on drugs? 

“No way like…” which one was paprika? “You know to stay quiet, right? You don’t have a passport.”

Wanda gave him a look. “We’re flying commercial?”

“No. But you never know what people ask.”

Wanda glanced back at Scott, who had his eyes locked out the window. “Does he have a passport?”

In all seriousness, Clint wasn’t convinced Scott Lang wasn’t going to, like, steal his wallet.

“Just…be inconspicuous, okay? I already don’t know if Ant Guy back there can pull it off.”

“Who is he again?”

Clint glanced back. Scott Lang was still not stealing any wallets. “What’s paprika?”

Wanda looked absolutely ready to punch him in the face. “You don’t know what paprika is?”

Before he could humor Wanda long enough for her to realize he actually didn’t know which spice was paprika, they reached the plane. Clint hesitated, but ultimately decided it’d be a decent enough idea. He let Wanda get out, then he covered Scott Lang’s head with a reusable bag of Laura’s he found in the trunk. 

“Location so top secret I can’t even see it? Sweet!” Scott Lang said.

Wanda gave him another incredulous look, although the kid wasn’t making it obvious if she was judging him for the bag, Scott Lang himself, or if she was just an angsty teenager. (Truth be told, she kept saying she was twenty-three, but he didn’t believe her.)

Clint pushed Scott Lang into the plane, stuck him in the back of the plane, and shut the curtain between him and the cockpit. 

“You want a drink?” Clint asked Wanda before he started really gluing himself to the seat.

“Do you have Baileys?”

Fucking kid!

“I meant do you want some cranberry juice or a soda.”

Wanda deflated a little. “Cranberry juice.”

Clint felt bad. A little. Not that much, but he was…well, Wanda had been telling him the whole car ride after she buried Vision in the core of the earth that she’d been running around _Home Alone_ style trying unsuccessfully to avoid Vision and if he’d been running around a house a la _Home Alone_ trying to avoid an android, he’d be pretty frazzled. Wanda frazzled sounded like the kind of thing that could either kill just him or kill an entire settlement. Besides, who didn’t like drugs?

He stepped out of the cockpit and into Scott Lang’s area to pull out the drinks from the fridge. One can of juice, one glass, a couple Benadryl. He did it to Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel all the time.

“Is that girl young enough to justify drugging her with baby medication?” Scott Lang asked.

Clint resisted looking up at Scott Lang. “Yes, she is.”

“Okay. But just know, I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah. Feel free to take some yourself.”

“This cooler is filled with booze. I’ll manage.”

Clint finally turned to Scott Lang. “Hey! I need you sober when you meet Cap.”

“I was _kidding_. I’m gonna be stone cold sober when I meet Captain America.”

Clint returned with Wanda’s drink, and she drank without protest. Already his favorite kid.

Clint chuckled. “Did you ever actually _stop_ being mad at Vision?”

Wanda shrugged and took one last gulp of juice. “Apparently it’s inappropriate to hold a grudge on someone for saving your life for more than six months, so yes. But no.”

“So were you lying to me when you said he was kind of nice?”

“He can be kind of nice and I can still be mad. If he wants to exist in this world, he’s got to start learning to forge his own path and not follow authority so blindly.”

Clint smirked. “Like you?”

Wanda crossed her arms and slowly bit her lip. “Can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet?”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t know what the Sokovia Accords actually said.”

“I wonder if Ross knows it’d be illegal to get you to sign those without someone reading it to you first.” Clint shrugged. “I bet Stark would read it to you if you asked.”

Wanda leaned back in her chair. “I don’t want Tony Stark reading me anything. Tony’s an asshole.”

“But didn’t Tony buy you that guitar you really wanted?” Wanda was not laughing. “Calm down, Maximoff. We’re not here to change sides. This is among Stark’s more dumb decisions.” He glanced back. “Then again, I don’t know if this is Cap’s smartest decision either.”

Wanda glanced back at Scott Lang again. “So who is he?”

“He shrinks or something.”

Wanda furrowed her brow. “How?”

“Suit I think.” Wanda said nothing. “Why?”

“He’s kinda hot.”

Ugh, Wanda.

“If I had my arrows with me, I’d tase you in the face again.”

Wanda smiled wryly. “Go ahead and try. I needed some human bones to impress all my teenage goth friends.”

Oh, _Wanda_. 

He smiled and ruffled her hair. Nothing compared to her angry kitten face.

#

“Hey, Arrow Guy.”

Wanda had been asleep for a solid one hour and forty-five minutes, and shit if she was going to be woken up by Scott Lang sticking his head between him and Wanda.

“Shh! She’s _sleeping_!” Clint hissed.

Scott Lang glanced down at Wanda. “That…is a full grown woman you drugged with baby medication.” Scott Lang looked over to Clint. “Anyway, I was wondering, where are we flying to?”

“Germany.”

“Because you can check out a lot of stuff back there, and you can fly for maybe another hundred miles.”

Germany was not a hundred miles away. Fuck.

Clint shifted in his seat. “We’re gonna refuel.”

“Also there was a mechanical—”

“We’re gonna drive, okay?”

Wanda stirred for a moment, the kind of droopy eyed half-awake that got Clint ready to have a heart attack. He ran his hand through Wanda’s hair. “We’re not there yet, Wand.”

She fell back asleep, and Scott Lang still wasn’t gone. “Yeah, baby Benadryl isn’t great for adults.”

Clint pushed Scott away.

“Also did she say I was hot?”

Clint shoved Scott away.

#

Scott Lang was correct, and they were grounded once they made it to France. Clint seriously considered his options: A) get Wanda deported, or B) don’t get Wanda deported. He picked B, and rented them a nice big van. Scott Lang got a nice big spot in the back of the van, and a groggy, bedheaded Wanda got the front seat. He could make it to Germany in ten hours. This would be fine.

Or, it was. Until Wanda Fucking Maximoff opened up her purse and it was filled with tiny bottles of Baileys from the plane ride.

“What. Are. Those?” Clint demanded.

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to snag your free alcohol?”

“This is a serious mission we’re going on—”

“In ten hours. You want me at my best, don’t you? Let me unwind. Jesus.”

Forced to keep his eyes on the road, the best Clint could manage was reaching over into Wanda’s personal space to retrieve the bottles. Naturally, it didn’t really work. No, she _mocked_ him, pulling out a little bottle, uncapping it, and sucking it down smiling the whole time. Then, the next bottle she pulled out was a whiskey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Wanda, stop it! You don’t even—”

“Don’t what, Clint?”

Wanda downed another one, and call Clint extra sensitive, but she was definitely doing it to spite him. Once he got to a goddamn stoplight…

“Oh my God, Maximoff, you aren’t gonna get drunk off Baileys, you’re going to get sick. At least switch to something less sweet.”

She then proceeded to uncap a little whiskey bottle and throw him a thumbs up. Goddamn Eastern Europeans and their alcohol tolerance. 

_Drink one more of those, Maximoff_ , Clint thought, knowing the little witch could listen in.

Slowly, Wanda pulled out an amaretto, making hard eye contact as she unscrewed the damn thing. They approached a stoplight. Yellow light. Oh, he dared her. She lifted the bottle to her lips. He slowed the car to stop. Red light.

Clint threw his body to the other side of the car, not caring what body parts he elbowed in the process to grab her purse. Her hands landed right in the mix, and the little brat had surprisingly sharp nails for them being kept down to size. She grabbed a hold of a couple bottlenecks and he snagged whatever else was left. He gripped onto them for dear life, took whatever scratches he had to, and…threw them into the back of the car. She wouldn’t go back there.

“DRIVE!” Scott Lang shouted from the back of the car.

Clint slapped one hand up over Wanda’s face to push her away, and slammed the accelerator. Wanda hexed him off her, and he would’ve stayed, he really would’ve, but that shit _burned._ He _might have_ made a sound that was similar to a yelp or screech, and Wanda pulled away with four drinks. 

“No,” Clint said.

“Thanks for the booze, Arrow Guy!” Scott Lang said from the back.

Wanda smiled. “Hey Ant Guy, wanna play a drinking game?”

There was the sound of rummaging glass from the backseat. “Hell yeah.”

He should’ve gone water skiing.

#

Nine hours remaining. Someone had jacked the music. Guess Who’s “American Woman” was suddenly playing way too loudly through his speakers. He didn’t know about Scott Lang, but Wanda was shitfaced.

_American woman, stay away from me…_

“I love this song!” Wanda squealed. She grabbed his hand and started swinging their arms to the music, slurring the lyrics in the most perfect English he’d ever heard on her. 

Clint shook his hand off her. 

“Oh, screw you,” Wanda said.

Still muttering drawn out _buh-bye buh-bye_ from the song, Wanda then proceeded to _unbuckle her seatbelt and climb through the tiny space between the seats into the back._ Clint looked back at just the right time to get a face full of pushed up skirt and Wanda’s _Star Wars_ panties. 

“Oh my God, _Wanda_!” Clint said.

He heard a thud of what he assumed was his little punk hitting the floor of the van.

“Nice _underwear_ ,” he could hear a drunk Scott Lang say.

“Yeah, I touch myself to _Star Wars_ sometimes.”

Oh, _Wanda_ …

“I feel that. I used to do the same thing. Everyone always says go for Return of the Jedi, but I was always a _New Hope_ kind of guy, you know?”

“I just got into the new one…”

“New fap material for a new generation.”

“Yeah.”

Kill him. If any nice French people wanted to kill him, he’d take it.

#

“Fate tell me it's right,

is this love at first sight?”

He thought it couldn’t get worse than the the 70s. Then they got into the 90s and despite Wanda being some kind of child to possibly infant in the 90s and Scott Lang just…not, both of the drunk idiots knew all the words to “All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You.” Clint could only glimpse the horrors with occasional over the shoulder glances, but it looked like neither of them were wearing seat belts, Wanda was lying unnaturally on Scott Lang, and both of them were impassionately gesturing in some drunk attempt at dancing.

“ALL I WANNA DO IS MAKE LOVE TO YOU

Say will you

You want me to

ALL I WANNA DO IS MAKE LOVE TO YOU

I’VE GOT SOME LOVIN’ TO HOLD ONTO.”

Steve was going to kill him. If either of these two remembered any of this, they would never look at each other. Clint was still pretty sure Wanda was underaged and so many illegal things were happening. 

“Then it happened one day,

we came round the same way…”

Clint looked back. And…fuck, Wanda was literally sitting on the guy’s lap, neither of them aware of anything.

“You can imagine his surprise/when he saw his,” They grabbed onto each other’s shoulders, “OWN EYES.”

Fuck him this was not happening.

“All night long

All night long

All night long

All night long…”

Fuck him

Fuck him

Fuck him

Fuck him.

#

“Clint, can I come back up front?” Wanda asked, her voice now soft, after another seven hours, after the two of them had passed out for the best stretch of driving yet.

“I wonder why…” Clint said.

“You’re driving rough.”

“Aww, does your tummy hurt?”

“ _Can I come up front_?”

Clint sighed. “At the next stop.”

Scott Lang hadn’t said anything in a while. Clint didn’t want to check to make sure he was alive. He was _sure_ he was.

He let Wanda grab onto him for support as she clambered her way back up front. She took a seat, strapped in, adjusted the placement of the strap, and leaned back. Definitely not the peach of health. Little hung over idiot.

“Keep me in the loop, Baileys.”

Her version of keeping him the loop involved her face against the window mumbling the words, “Clint, I think I’m going to vomit.”

In retrospect, he made a pretty dumb move. “You t _hink_ or you _know_? There’s a nuance in English—”

Wanda started slamming her hand onto the window controls.

“Fuck you.”

One of them probably wanted to say something else, but Wanda’s immediate next move was to go elbows to thighs and puke all over the space between her feet. For just a moment, before the fatherly comforting instinct kicked in, Clint managed to say:

“WANDA, THIS IS A RENTAL!”

Once Wanda had wiped her mouth and sat back up, she shot him a full red-eyes _pissed_ look. For a moment, it genuinely occurred to him that Wanda might murder him on the spot. “ _You locked the fucking window_!”

He could hear Scott Lang’s laughter from the back. They were screwed.

After establishing that Wanda felt like shit but was not planning on vomiting again, Clint pulled into the first not-so-sketchy car wash in Belgium, kicked Wanda out to go wash her shoes, and started cleaning the front seat. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve figured out how to bend reality and make this not happen?” Clint asked Wanda.

“Do you really think I’d still elect to feel like this if I didn’t have to?”

Clint continued scrubbing. “You should be doing this.”

“I can hear you.”

“You could hear me if I was thinking it too.”

Clint still couldn’t quite tell if either Wanda or Scott Lang remembered anything they’d done while drunk. Wanda seemed aware of the fact that drinking five Baileys and two whiskies was a bad idea, but it still wasn’t clear if she knew the full extent. 

“So…Scott Lang. Wallets stolen?” Clint asked.

Wanda shrugged. “He’s spent a long time mentally flipping out over meeting Captain America. Like, he’s been rehearsing what he’s going to say for the past hour.”

Clint smirked. “No wonder you blew chunks.”

#

An hour later, Clint finally got the vomit smell out of the car, and had discarded all evidence that anyone had been drunk. Well, most of the evidence; he couldn’t quite trash the hung over child, very slowly nursing some orange juice he got her.

“I like to think you learned a lesson today, Maximoff,” Clint said as they crossed the Germany border and he saw hope in the world again. “Don’t get drunk off Baileys.”

Wanda still hadn’t completely given up on the “feeling like shit” thing, but she was also pretty good at hiding things from Steve, so he wasn’t…that worried. “Yeah, whatever.”

Clint shook his head. “Even Pietro would’ve known that.”

Wanda gave him a look. “Pietro? My brother? He would’ve downed a whole case forgetting that he can’t get drunk and would’ve puked all over everything. Don’t ever assume I’m dumber than him.”

“Hey Wanda?”

“What?”

“Where’s your brother’s body?”

Wanda paused for a moment before looking over to him, stone faced. “In his grave.”

“Because I’m pretty sure six months ago you made Vision a friendship bracelet and convinced him to hang out with you, and a guy’s gotta assume…”

Wanda scowled. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like hanging out with Vision?”

“You said you were still pissed at him.”

“That maybe he was the only one willing to go to _Hamilton_ with me?”

“You two wouldn’t go to _Hamilton_.”

“Why? Because I’m Sokovian and he’s an android means we can’t enjoy a hip-hop musical about American history?”

“Wanda, I just want to know so if he shows up at my house with his ‘you didn’t see that coming?’ I can honestly say I did.”

Wanda hesitated. “Here’s your hint.” She leaned into her seat and shut her eyes. “Oh, by the way, how’s your wallet?”

He waited until the next stop to check. 

It was missing fifty bucks.

“That ant fucker…” Clint said.

Without opening her eyes, Wanda snapped out two twenties and a ten.

“You’re an idiot,” Wanda mumbled before drifting off to sleep for the last leg.

Should’ve gone water skiing.

 


End file.
